


(Not A) Parental Figure

by Nacority



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: hermes partially raises orpheus, parental hermes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-07-30 18:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nacority/pseuds/Nacority
Summary: "He had never wanted to be a parent. Hermes was the god of travel and trade, conductor of the infernal train, all of that, but not a parent. He did not have enough interest in men to both raising one. And yet…""Snippets of Hermes caring for Orpheus as only a (not) parental figure could, both pre-musical and throughout.





	1. Young Boy meets Old God

He had never wanted to be a parent. Hermes was the god of travel and trade, conductor of the infernal train, all of that, but not a parent. He did not have enough interest in men to both raising one. And yet…

Orpheus was only a little more than a boy when he was entrusted to Hermes. Orphans were not uncommon in this town. It had a certain attractive energy that brought those low on life and wanting more, drawing in lost children and adults alike. Somehow they knew what -or rather, who -would be arriving come spring. One more lonely child would most certainly be taken in by the town, Hermes thought to himself. And yet… and yet he had promised the boy's mother. She had been a dancer, delighting in song and dazzling in all performing arts. He wondered, idly, if her son would pick up any of those traits. 

"You're my dad?" the young Orpheus asked, startling- no, not startling him. In all of his grace, poise and gravitas, Hermes was never startled nor shaken. Gentle pulled from his thoughts would be more accurate. Or, far more precisely, gently reminded that he had been directly entrusted with the care of this child. And he had agreed to the task. Unbuttoning a single button from his jacket, he turned to look down at the boy. How small he was. Time would change that, for sure, but. So small. 

"No." He intended to deliver it as an adult would when gently correcting a child. Judging by the boy's blank stare up at him, waiting for him to continue, he assumed that he had succeeded. 

"No, Orpheus, you may call me Mr. Hermes. You'll be living in this town-" 

"With you?", Orpheus cut in, cocking his head to the side with curiosity and excitement in his eyes. Hermes huffed a bit. Just a little. He would not get frustrated with this child. And, to the poor boy's credit, given any other situation he might be right. 

Opening his mouth to begin again, a thought struck him. He had not actually considered where he would keep the child when he accepted responsibility for him. He had not considered many things. Hermes closed his mouth and placed a finger on his lips, pausing in contemplation. He felt Orpheus stop beside him. Children needed a place to sleep. Children couldn't sleep on a train, could they? Well, possibly they could. But not his train. Perhaps he would finally have to find accommodations within the town. Maybe even lessen his work hours. 

With a gentle smile he slowly turned to Orpheus and gave a graceful nod. This seemed to delight the boy- his eyes were filled with more wonder than any man, woman, or child he'd seen before. Perhaps his mother's side? He positively vibrated with excitement, flapping his arms a bit before reaching up expectantly as to hold Hermes hand. At this, the smile dropped from Hermes face. 

"Well, boy, we best get going. This way to town." 

He did not catch the boy's expression as he turned to lead the way, but heard him following nonetheless. 

Orpheus was just a boy, and Hermes, he reminded himself, need not get attached to him.  
He was no parent.


	2. Old God Observing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermes notices some things about his young charge.

As it turned out, young Orpheus did not pose too much change to Hermes life. He even successfully managed to lessening his work hours conducting the Train to Hell- a feat that went over suspiciously well with Hades, though he did not miss the glares from Persephone. Were it not for the matter of his new charge, he would have pressed the subject. But, he had to keep to his promise. 

Raising- no, once again, too informal, personal. He did not want to get attached. A favor to a friend and nothing more. Guiding Orpheus gently along- yes, that had a fitting amount of disconnection, separation- was simultaneously exactly as he had expected and planned, and also nothing that he could have planned for. Though, in all honesty, his lack of preparation and split-second decision making had led him down this path either way. 

The house that Hermes had procured was simple- as was most things in this town. A place to sleep, a place to eat, a place to… well, a basic house. A location where Hermes would put his baggage down and settle in- not that he would, of course. He traveled with the wind, watching but never interfering with their business. Of course, the train did not run itself- that was a fact. He still had that as his other 'home'. 

The first thing that Hermes noticed about the boy was that he did not do well in silence.

Where there was silence he found an uneasy nothing. So, the boy filled this nothingness with sound. Humming, hymns of heros told through rhythm and rhyme without reason. Sometimes it was as simple as tapping his fingers to an unheard beat, his feet eventually picking it up until it became a neat little attempt at a dance. An attempt, of course, was Hermes nice way of putting it- he was coming to realize that Orpheus did in fact, not inherit his mother's grace of dance. The sense of rhythm was certainly there but oh, oh this poor boy had an awkwardness about his movements. Hermes could tell it would lessen with age but never go away completely. Perhaps he would stick around though, in the far, far future, when his promise to raise the boy had been fulfilled. Just to see. 

The second thing that Hermes noticed about Orpheus was that the boy lacked social graces.   
Hermes had attempted on multiple occasions to make the boy go off to play with children his own age, only to observe that Orpheus just did not connect with them. They never treated him poorly, thankfully, but he just didn't seem to pick up on certain social cues and had trouble reading his peers. Additionally, he never seemed terribly interested in interacting with them. Rather, he would wander off on his own, or simply wish to play by himself, lost in his own world. 

One day, after a long day of work- the Train was always full nowadays, and Hadestown was booming- Hermes had decided to ask him about it. It took the boy a while to think up a response before he answered simply "I don't know". 

It worried Hermes a little bit. Not that he wanted the boy to succeed- not that he didn't want the boy to succeed- but he knew that he couldn't stay here forever. And the thought of leaving Orpheus alone just… didn't settle with the old God. 

Perhaps it was his doing, not teaching the boy enough yet. He would have to remedy that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet anyways background autistic orpheus is the good stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermes runs into trouble with imparting knowledge onto his young charge, and finds a possible answer to this problem.

Teaching Orpheus the basics was much harder than he had expected. Hermes has conversed with man in the past, had held conversation, taught and learned, but to speak to a boy? Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day, but to teach a boy to fish required something else entirely. The amount of times he had nearly given up was, admittedly, numerous.

The main problem was keeping the boy's attention.  
Hermes could talk to him all he wanted but Orpheus would always just… drift off. Not to say that he would actually fall asleep, Hermes knew he had taught the boy enough manners to avoid that at the very least, but his attention would wane so horribly thin so quickly that the lesson would be over and he would have only heard the beginning of it.

Of course, the boy could read and write, and do the very basics of math. He was surprisingly good with history, his was skilled enough with his hands for a boy his age, and his problem solving skills were only slightly-below average for a boy of his age. The problem was, all of this he had learned _before_. Hermes had yet to teach the boy anything that had actually _stuck_ with him. It irked Hermes. Just a bit. Only because he needed to ensure that the boy had the necessary skills to exist in this world, and it was certainly not coming from a place of wounded pride.

Perhaps he needed… advice. He was used to dealing with men, not boys.

Declaring the failed attempt at teaching done for the day, Hermes sent Orpheus out to play in the town while he himself ventured out to seek answers.

\---

Orpheus had once again found himself bored with the town and the children in it. Which explained why he was currently in their home, drumming up a storm on the pots and pans in the kitchen. The rhythm soothed him, and being able to do something with his hands made him feel right in a way he couldn't yet put into words.

After a long day of listening to Mr. Hermes (or at least, he very desperately tried to- he wanted nothing more than to please him) it was nice to take a break and just exist in his own world. It felt better than disappointing Mr. Hermes- well, he assumed it was disappointment that crossed the man's face whenever he called Orpheus back to himself. Mr. Hermes, kind as he was, could be very hard to read. But ultimately, he trusted him. And he was going to try his very best to learn.

Nodding his head in affirmation to himself, Orpheus returned to drumming.

\---

It was far later than he wanted when Hermes returned home. The house was quiet. Orpheus must have put himself to bed. Perhaps, even if he was failing with teaching the boy knowledge, he was succeeding in teaching him good habits. With a quiet, contented sigh, Hermes settled himself into his new side project.

The trip into town had been less helpful than he had hoped. In fact, he had gotten no help at all. Instead he got, to use a colloquial, 'mobbed' by various townsfolk. Apparently, he was rather famous among them, for a multitude of reasons. From all sides he got questions and requests, the presence of a god something to be celebrated. Questions varied from inquiring about Persephone and her lateness, asking about why he was in town to begin with, and more morbidly, requests to take The Train to Hadestown. He scoffed at the memory, at the same time searching his pockets for...

The one request that he had decided to oblige was much more simple, and certainly not related to business- which, he had told the crowd in a rather irritated manner, he wasn't on shift for at the moment. No, before him lay a well-worn lyre. Many people forgot that it was him who had invented the instrument, though he certainly had no claims of being the one to perfect it. The one before him was far more ornate than his first, the turtle shell used for the body much more ornately designed even with the wear of use. The request had been simple- the instrument was old, the strings were breaking, and so he accepted the simple task of restringing it. It was such a small task, but it put a soft smile on Hermes face. Seated at the table he set to work unspooling the catgut and fitting it to the lyre. As he worked, he took a moment to appreciate the silence. No gears groaning, no whistles blowing, no Train wheels, no workers in their sorry state.

Not even the wind, ladies of malice and mistrust, dared disturb the tender peace of this moment.  
It was all finished soon enough, and tuning was no problem. Hesitantly, as if indulging in a long-abandoned joy, he closed his eyes and strummed a few notes on the instrument. Then a few became more, and more until he was quietly humming an old song to himself. A performance of one, of older times and of older gods. Then, the song was done. Well, done to a certain point. Songs, like stories, will always go on, but the rest had yet to be written. Stretching his hands and cleaning up, he readied himself for the night.

He would have made it to the door had he not heard the quiet and distinctive echo of the song he just played coming from the room of his young charge. Turning to face the entrance of said room, he saw the familiar face of a tired but attentive and intrigued young boy. Swaying gently to the rhythm of the song he was playing. The song of old gods played by one of them.

Returning to his seat, Hermes beckoned for Orpheus to join him at the table, which his young charge happily obliged. Taking the lyre in his hands once more, Hermes felt Orpheus' attention now more than ever before. He smiled to himself. Finally, a way to connect with him.

And he started the song again, adding words now to the old melody.

_"King of shadows,_   
_ King of shades,_   
_ Hades was king_   
_ of the Underworld..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the support so far. Also fun fact, lyre strings were made out of guts, hence Hermes having catguts (it's not actually catguts that's just what it's called).


	4. Old God, Similar Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little boy gets guitar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college started and at the end of the week I took a day to see Hadestown, spent 2/3s of the day on a bus and accidentally interrupted Amber Gray's coffee run. thank you all for the support- i will try to get to responding to all your comments soon, I cherish each and every one of them.

Sound and melody were undoubtedly something Orpheus gravitated towards. So it wasn't too surprising that the boy kept bringing up the lyre incident.

"Can you play it again? Just once?" the boy stared in wonder at Hermes. This was, of course, one of the many times he had this request since returning the instrument to its rightful owner. He could at least appreciate that Orpheus hadn't resorted to tugging on his clothes in addition to begging, as he had seen some roudier children do from his brief times out in the town. 

Letting out a breath through his nose he merely looked at the boy. Said boy continued to look up at him.

"...I know...you said that it wasn't yours but… could we get one? Maybe" An the rapid development of an idea overtook his features as he broke out into a grin. "Maybe we could get two! And you could teach me!"

"Orpheus." Hermes rubbed his temples. Orpheus clasped his hands together.

"Please?" 

  


By the end of the day a new space in the house was dedicated for two new stands that held two new lyres. The store owner had tried to subtly persuade Orpheus into getting one that was more suited for children, but the boy was both oblivious to the owner's hints and insistent on getting one exact like Hermes. The owner, sensing he wasn't getting through to the child, turned to Hermes for help in convincing him. However, Hermes was one to let humans learn from their own mistakes. 

"If he wants this one", Hermes had said picking up the shiny new lyre, "then by all means I shall get him this one." The already forced smile on the shop owner's face faltered for a moment, perhaps debating the pros and cons of arguing with a god. Then she leapt into another half-hearted speal about proper instrument sizes for children. Hermes had let her drone on until she had or fill- or at least until his gaze finally penetrated through her stubbornness and her arguments petered out. 

In the end, they had taken home two lyres- one far too large, the other a perfect fit, despite both instruments being the same size.

Which is how it came to be some early morning hour when Hermes was awoken by the soft sound of strings and audible clacking of wood against wood. He wasn't mad, or even agitated by this interruption of his sleep. It was only recently that he had truly started to appreciate sleeping in, not worrying about running the train at odd hours of the night and barely sleeping. No, he was not at all frustrated when his very precious relaxation time was stolen from him by the growing possibility of a boy breaking an instrument through mishandling.

Wrapping himself in...well, his pajamas, Hermes made his way to the noise.

"..."

A jarring combination of notes.

"No...that's not right..." 

Another tentative strum of the lyre.

"Not that either."

Hermes moved quietly across the floorboards, willing them not to creak. He could barely make out Orpheus talking to himself while exploring the instrument. Every step closer, a new strum. Every new strum, the closer it got to sounding harmonious. By the time he reached the boy, it was sounding vaguely like a melodious chord. But the imperfection seemed to be getting to him. Orpheus was breathing in a way that signaled a flood of tears and a full blown breakdown were just around the corner. His fingers tapped the wood of the instrument incessantly, occasionally one hand would move to his face to rub his nose. Another strum, almost perfect and almost...familiar. Almost the start of song- but only almost.

This brought on the rocking. Hermes had noticed, whenever the boy got terribly stressed or overwhelmed, he started to rock. It hadn't happened much on his watch, but there had been a few scenarios when Orpheus hadn't understood something he was trying to learn and it frustrated him to the point of rocking. 

Hermes sighed and slowly rushed over to kneel down by the boy. Orpheus didn't look up at him. He reached for the lyre. This seemed to snap him out of the trance he was in to an extent, as Orpheus gingerly handed over the instrument. Hermes could see tears starting to roll down his face as he went red- a combination of frustration and perhaps the guilt of being caught.

"...Come here, Orpheus." Hermes fully sat himself on the floor and patted his lap. Orpheus took a moment to blow his nose in his sleeve and came over. Hermes tried not to grimace at the action- now was not the time to be fussy with the boy over things. He held the lyre as Orpheus unceremoniously plopped down in his lap, not looking his caretaker in the eye.

Orpheus sniffled once again. 

Hermes lowered the lyre so it was situated in both of their laps. 

"May I see your hand?"

Orpheus put his left hand limply into Hermes. Hermes in turn guided it to the frets of the lyre, placing just so. With his other hand, he strummed.

A perfect chord rang out- the perfection going deeper than just technique, it was the first chord of- 

Orpheus gasped and looked up in wonder at Hermes, the tears making his eyes glisten but the wonder showing through all the same.

"You got it!" 

Hermes let a gentle smile play across his features. "Of course."

This time it was Orpheus who took the reigns and strummed- a bit too harshly- on the lyre. With a voice shaking still from holding back tears, a voice full of wonder and a hint of triumph, he began.

_ "King of Mortars" _

He flexed left his hand beneath Hermes, still held against the fretboard, his other poised to strum once more, and looked up at him expectantly. Hermes really had not planned on staying him all night, but the wonder the Orpheus had in his eyes…

It was rays of sunlight that woke him up, still splayed out on the floor from the night with a small weight on top of him. Stretching slowly so as not to wake the boy, Hermes righted himself before hefting Orpheus up and bringing him to bed. 

Sometimes, he thought to himself. Sometimes it's alright to enjoy the little things. 

**Author's Note:**

> yo I haven't wrote anything in years and did this in one go who knows how long it'll be or when I'll update it. cheers.


End file.
